


A Better Adoption

by TheHistoryHuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Adoption, After the Marauders, Before Philosopher's Stone begins, Gen, Going to Hogwarts, It was just an idea ok, Look just pay attention to the date, Molly is everyone's mother, Orphanage, Probably won't be finished, This Harry needed one too, first wizarding war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:56:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4558506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHistoryHuff/pseuds/TheHistoryHuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry finds out he's a wizard and goes to Hogwarts. Wait, wait-- this is a different Harry.</p><p>This one, while also a wizard, was born in 1970, and has never even been to Britain. Well, until today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. St. Jude's Home for Children, Chicago

_Tuesday, June 30, 1981_

Harry couldn’t believe it. The man had been about to adopt him. What had happened? Had he done something wrong? He would probably never know, as Mr. DuMorne had suddenly announced to the orphanage that he was going back to Europe for a job and couldn’t take a child with him. But he’d told Harry last time he visited that it was definitely happening, that nothing could make him back out now (Harry had been suspicious). And now…

He was stuck here again. He glared at the drab gray walls from his bed. As orphanages went, this one wasn’t bad, but…it was still an orphanage. The creaky bunk bed he stayed in was covered with faded blue sheets which had lost their softness a hundred washes ago. All the furniture had been carved in by successive generations of kids, everything from “Adam wuz here” to crude, insulting drawings of previous caretakers. He currently shared the room with no less than four other boys.

Needless to say, he hated it here. And now his chance at a real family was gone. Disappointment broke like waves over him. It was his own fault, though. He should know not to get his hopes up. But Mr. DuMorne had seemed so excited to adopt him…He shook off those thoughts and rolled over in the rough sheets, falling asleep in moments.

...

_Wednesday, July 1, 1981_

“DRESDEN!” Harry and his roommates were startled awake by pounding on their door.

“Dresden! Wake up; there’s someone here to see you!”

Hope sprang to life in Harry’s gut. Had Mr. DuMorne returned? He couldn’t think of anyone else who would ask for him personally, especially at—he checked his Mickey Mouse watch—seven AM. He leapt out of bed, throwing clothes on in record time, and dashed out to the “family” room—

But it wasn’t Mr. DuMorne. Instead of his tall, elegant frame, a short, plump, redheaded woman sat on the couch with the orphanage director, an enormous purple purse next to her. Feeling kind of betrayed, Harry gave them both a skeptical look.

“Harry Dresden! Lovely to meet you, dear; I’m Molly Weasley!”

The woman, who apparently was British, jumped up and enthusiastically introduced herself, taking his hand and pumping it. Mr. Chamberlain, the director, gave him a glare which clearly said, “Behave or find yourself on cleaning duty!,” so he offered his best smile to the lady and returned her greeting.

The director cleared his throat and declared,

“Harry, Mrs. Weasley is here to adopt you.”

Shocked, he let loose a swear word, earning another death glare from Mr. Chamberlain, though Mrs. Weasley didn’t seem too bothered, as she was still beaming at him.

“Sorry, Mr. Chamberlain. But—what do you mean she’s here to adopt me?”

“What I said, Dresden. Normally these things take a while, but Mrs. Weasley has documents proving she’s your mother’s cousin, and all the required forms, signed and everything.”

Harry was having trouble processing this. “But…what about Mr. DuMorne?”

Here Mrs. Weasley chipped in, “Actually, Har—do you mind if I call you Harry?” He shook his head. This response seemed to make her even more cheerful.

“Alright, then. Harry, Mr. DuMorne’s application was what tipped us off about you…You see, I haven’t had contact with my American family in ages. I must confess I was relieved when he backed out! I know that must have been difficult for you, but I would so love to get acquainted with my—“

The end of her sentence was lost as Mr. Chamberlain hastily cut her off.

“Yes, yes; it is a miracle! Now, Dresden, go pack your things. Mrs. Weasley’s plane is waiting.”

“What..now? And plane to where? What…”

His own questions also fell victim to Mr. Chamberlain’s haste to get rid of him (which Harry thought was unfair—he hadn’t caused trouble in months), as the man hustled him into the hallway with his room.

In something of a daze, he packed his duffel bag (which didn’t take long), and, as his roommates had all gone back to sleep, woke up Patrick, his best (okay, only) friend at St. Jude’s Home, to tell him goodbye. Patrick was as bewildered as Harry, but it seemed nothing could be done about it.

Hoisting the bag over his narrow shoulder, he met Mr. Chamberlain and Mrs. Weasley in the main room. She smiled at him, more gently this time.

“Are you ready to go, hon?”

He nodded, not quite trusting his voice enough to respond.

She led him out the door and into a taxi, where he sat quietly, trying to figure out the events of the last five minutes. Five minutes? It had taken Mr. DuMorne months to get through the adoption process. There had been social workers, and child psychologists, and mountains of paperwork, and visit after visit to St. Jude’s. This woman walked in alone and out with him in five minutes?

He was so busy mulling this over it took him a few minutes to realize they were leaving town. He shot a panicked look at Mrs. Weasley—what had he gotten himself into?—but she pulled a stick, of all things, out of her giant purple handbag, and that was the last thing he knew.

…

When Harry came to, he found himself sitting in a lush green garden. He could hear birds chirping, other animals rustling in bushes and trees, and what sounded like several kids playing. He was still drowsy, so he blinked slowly, trying to re-orient himself. His stomach felt uneasy, probably because he was so dizzy.

“Hello, Harry.”

A voice he only took a moment to identify as Mrs. Weasley’s greeted him. He leapt up—and promptly threw up onto a tangle of bright pink flowers, nearly toppling over in the process. Hands were quickly at his waist and underneath his arms, holding him up, making him panic even more fiercely though he was too woozy to fight them. Choking on bile, he tried to wriggle away from the hands, and was instead gently placed in the grass, the smell of his own vomit suddenly gone.

Putting a hand to his hand to stop the spinning, he cautiously opened his eyes again and looked around. Sure enough, there was Mrs. Weasley, and beside her was a man, tall, gangly, also with red hair. He was—and wasn’t this just the weird icing on the weird cake?—wearing long, flowing bright blue robes. They both had sticks.

He was too shaky to try to stand again, but he carefully scooted away from the two lunatics. They smiled sadly at him and Mrs. Weasley even backed away a few steps before speaking to him again.

“I’m sorry about that, Harry, but there was really no time to ride an aero-pain.”

This absurd apology did nothing to make Harry rethink his estimation of the two. The man squatted down so he was at Harry’s eye-level.

“It’s alright, Harry, really. We’re not going to hurt you—you have our word on that. And I swear,”

Here his blue eyes twinkled a bit and he winked at Harry. “—we’re not as crazy as you think right now.”

This seemed extremely unlikely, so Harry shot him one of his best skeptical looks. Oddly (but what about this wasn’t odd?), the man just nodded.

“Well, that’s fair. Harry…have you ever done anything strange, maybe when you were afraid or angry, or just really, really wanted something?”

Harry briefly flashed back to the long-jump competition in fifth grade, where he’d been disqualified for cheating. He really hadn’t meant to go that far…he’d just really, really wanted to win something—

The man smiled at him.

“Well, Harry Dresden, I’m Arthur Weasley. You’ve already met my wife, Molly. And…er…what you did was magic.”

Harry felt his eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

Mrs. Weasley returned to their conversation with, “Yes, I know it seems unbelievable, but…You’re a wizard, Harry.”

The boy in question, who one minute ago had been utterly certain he was not a wizard—not that the subject ever came up—found himself thinking over their words carefully. While he thought, he just stayed where he was, parked in the soft grass, one leg tucked awkwardly beneath him.

The Weasleys just waited.

After a moment of thought, Harry decided it was actually possible. His Dad had told him all sorts of stories about real magic before he died, and…some of them were seeming pretty plausible right now. And he had done something to make himself jump farther—he just didn’t know what. That kind of thing had been happening more and more lately, too.

He rearranged himself more comfortably and asked the Weasleys,

“So, um…the things I do sometimes when I get mad or…other stuff, that’s…magic?”

They nodded at him in unison, both beaming.

He went on, “So that thing you did to me with the stick was magic?”

“Wand, Harry. And yes. And sorry about that! I could tell you were about to panic and we—we just didn’t have time.”

Harry nodded, thinking that over, too.

“And, um…where am I?”

This time Mr. Weasley answered. “Er—you’re in Britain, Harry. Devon. Molly Portkeyed you—er, she transported you magically—here.”

At Harry’s look of disbelief, he added unnecessarily, “To our house. Er, in our garden.”

Harry really wanted to ask more questions, but Mrs. Weasley asked him one first, an important one.

“Harry, are you hungry?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, chapter two. I have a third one written, but you should know that's it! All I've got after that is a few vague ideas.

_Wednesday, July 1, 1981_

            A half-hour later, Harry had to admit it: the Weasleys could still be lunatics, but Mrs. Weasley could definitely cook. His stomach having settled down, he’d stuffed himself full of some kind of meat pie, peas, and was now eating a huge slice of cake. Mrs. Weasley was puttering about in the kitchen as pots and pans hovered over the sink, being scrubbed by a brush and dried by a towel. Both cleaning items seemed to be floating in midair. He supposed that meant they were telling the truth about magic, then—not even his Dad could manage a trick like that.

            Once he’d cleaned the plate of every last crumb of cake, he asked the question that had been bugging him since the Weasleys had guided him into their small, cozy house:

            “So, um. Magic is real, and I’m a wizard and all, but…why am I here?”

            Mr. Weasley’s eyes darted up to meet his wife’s, who made a shooing motion at him. The lanky man sighed.

            “Harry, the man who was about to adopt you, Justin DuMorne…he wasn’t what you thought he was.”

            Harry couldn’t stop himself. He blurted out,

            “Was he a wizard, too?!”

            Mr. Weasley smiled at him kindly.

            “Yes. But…we have reason to believe he wanted to adopt you so…so that…”

            The redheaded man took a big breath and plowed on,

            “So that he could train you as a wizard and use you to do…well, bad things.”

            Harry was eleven. He wasn’t stupid.

            “Bad things like he was going to molest me? ‘Cause if he was a wizard, why would he need me to do magi—“

            Mrs. Weasley, whose eyes had gone wide as saucers at the word “molest,” jumped in.

            “No, no! We believe he was going to train you as a dark wizard.”

            For a reason Harry would never understand, he found this hard to believe. Magic, sure; wizards, yeah; but dark wizards? No way. Weird, since he wasn’t exactly naïve. Why wouldn’t there be dark wizards? Still, at this exact moment, he snorted with disbelief.

            “A dark wizard? Really? What, like Sauron?” he laughed.

            The Weasleys gave him blank looks, then Mr. Weasley seemed to shake off confusion (at what, Harry didn’t know) and replied grimly,

            “Yes, Harry. There are dark wizards out there. Magic is a gift…but it’s also a kind of power, and there are wizards who use that power to hurt, and control, and even…”

            The man swallowed and forced out,

            “…to kill,” he finished.

            Harry got the feeling he was speaking from experience. Mrs. Weasley was patting her husband on the arm, and Harry felt intensely guilty.

            “I’m sorry, Mr. Weasley, I…I didn’t know, I just thought— I mean it sounds—“

            Mr. Weasley waved off his apologies.

            “It’s alright, Harry. It’s just that there’s a dark wizard around right now. But I know it all sounds mad to you.”

            The Weasleys continued to answer his questions for another hour (it turned out they weren’t really related: Harry was only slightly disappointed), then two redheaded boys—clearly their kids—came trooping in, tracking mud everywhere and each carrying a toddler (also redheads). Another small boy ran in just a moment after the rest. They were all quickly introduced to Harry as Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George in descending order of age.

The parents explained to him that he would be attending magic school in a few months, but until then, he was staying with them. And their seven children. Harry, confused, glanced over at their kids and began counting…But Mrs. Weasley laughingly interrupted him, saying,

            “These are the first five. My mother is keeping the youngest two, Ron and Ginny, for us today. So I could bring you here!”

…

            The rest of the summer was the happiest time of Harry’s life since his Dad had died. The Weasley parents would occasionally come home looking exhausted and despairing, but as none but Harry and Bill seemed to notice, the other kids would launch themselves at their parents with hugs, and the two—Harry now called them Arthur and Molly- would quickly cheer up. Grandma Prewett came over a lot, too, to help with Ron and Ginny (who were cute even if they were annoying), and between she and Molly, Harry ate better than he ever had.

            Still, the shadow hanging over this world was palpable. The adults seemed to pray before reading their morning paper ( _The Daily Prophet_ ), and often grimaced or burst into tears upon finishing it. The names Longbottom, Potter, McKinnon, and Bones were constantly being whispered.

            Arthur and Molly took him shopping for school supplies on August 15, in Diagon Alley—apparently the biggest shopping center for wizards. It was quiet. Everyone walked around only as much as necessary for their business, and Harry, isolated as he had been in the humor and happiness of the Burrow was astonished by the gloom that hung over the place. Still, once the Alley got busier, the Weasleys seemed to relax, and they even bought Harry an ice cream (the best he’d ever had) after their stop at Potage’s Cauldron Shop.

            Next they went to Ollivander’s to—and this was what Harry’d really been anticipating—buy a magic wand like Arthur and Molly had. The old man who ran the store creeped him out thoroughly, but after about twenty wands, Harry found the one. Or it found him. He wasn’t too sure.

            “Mm.” Mr. Ollivander had said, “Powerful wand. Blackthorn and dragon heartstring, fifteen inches long. Solid.”

            Arthur and Molly had seemed a bit taken aback at that, but Harry wasn’t sure if it was really the statement or just old man Ollivander’s general demeanor. Either way, they paid for his wand, and his trip to Diagon Alley was concluded.

            When they arrived at the Burrow, Harry felt the tension of the last two hours melt away from him and suddenly understood how Arthur and Molly felt when they returned from work or errands. The younger kids swarmed around him, demanding to see his wand, his cauldron, his books (well, Percy demanded to see those), and his potions ingredients, which grossed them out, much to their delight. He wasn’t allowed to use the wand—Arthur took it away “just to be sure”—but he had a wonderful time reading the more interesting books. The next week, Arthur even brought home a fluffy gray-and-white cat, whom he promptly named Queen.

            When September 1 rolled around, Molly and Arthur took him through the floo network to London, then to King’s Cross station. Like in Diagon Alley, Harry really wanted to just look around for a while, but they were of course running late (they had seven kids, after all) and so they all rushed to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, where Harry hopped aboard the red train after hugging both Weasleys tightly.


	3. Chapter 3

_Tuesday, September 1, 1981_

            Harry quickly realized he’d been correct about the Burrow being one of the few spots of cheer left in the magical world. The other eleven- and twelve-year-olds on the train, who by all rights should have been chattering away, excited about attending magic school, were mostly subdued.  While he looked for a compartment, he’d overheard rumors that one girl’s brother and his whole family had been killed over the summer.

            The last compartment had a free space, so Harry settled down amid a few other young students and listened absent-mindedly to their gossip, which was mostly about the War. Still, he caught from them that there was a new Potions professor this year, and that no one knew his identity just yet. But he mostly read _The Hobbit_.

            When they disembarked, though, he paid full attention. They were led (by a literal giant of a man) up to a Lake, and Harry’s first glimpse of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry left him speechless. He gazed at it in awe as the boats were magically propelled across the lake, until a bend obscured the view. Once they arrived at the school, he and the other first-years were herded after a tall, strict-looking witch in burgundy robes, along the colossal Entrance Hall and into a small chamber with a door on the other.

            Through the door he could hear hundreds of voices whispering, and his nerves, which had taken a backseat to amazement, returned in full force. Professor McGonagall explained they were to be Sorted (Arthur and Molly had told him about this) and he relaxed, until she told them it was in front of the whole school. As she left to prepare, they all frantically tried to smooth robes and tame hair (luckily, Harry still kept his own hair too short for it to stick up).

            When Professor McGonagall returned, she had them all line up and march into the huge cafeteria-thing, which she called the Great Hall. Candles hung in the air, hundreds of robed kids sat along long tables, and the ceiling…

Arthur and Molly had failed to mention the Sorting was done by a Hat! And a singing one, at that. The Hat told them all about the four Houses and their associated traits, after making some bizarre remark about how everything would change while they slept. Harry wasn’t sure if the Hat had ESP or was just trying to be optimistic.

            Either way, once it finished, McGonagall started calling names.

            “Abner, Clarice”

            A tiny girl, smaller even than Harry, scrambled up to the stool and climbed up. McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat on her head. It had only just touched her head when it announced,

            “RAVENCLAW!”

            Professor McGonagall hardly paused for a second.

            “Austin, Louis”

            Louis went to Hufflepuff immediately, and it seemed Harry had done nothing but blink when “Dresden, Harry” sounded out in a precise Scottish accent. He reluctantly approached the stool and McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat on his head, where it fell right over his eyes.

            “Hmm...” He heard from somewhere near his right ear.

            “A good challenge. First of the Ceremony.”

            Harry heard himself squawk in alarm, thereby losing whatever dignity he’d ever had.

            The Hat continued as if nothing had happened,

            “Hm. You’re very interested in fairness; don’t mind work, even enjoy it…But I sense there’s more to you. Good mind, but not the Ravenclaw type. Oh, what’s this? Ambition, I see. And some cunning as well. You’d make a good Slytherin.”

            At this Harry thought furiously _No, not Slytherin!_ He’d heard from the Weasleys that almost all dark wizards were from Slytherin. The Weasleys themselves had been Gryffindors.

            “Gryffindor, you say? Well, that would fit, too—actually that might fit best…I see a dash of nobility here…just needs to be developed. Certainly enough bravery. Alright, then.

            “GRYFFINDOR!” The Hat belted.

            Harry sagged in relief and climbed off the stool, making his way to the Gryffindor table—which, he presumed, was the one cheering madly for him. He sat down, joining Jasmine Brown, and observed the rest of the Ceremony. When that got boring, he watched the staff table, noticing with a snigger that the man in the very center looked exactly like he’d pictured Gandalf.

            Once “Yancy, Elizabeth” joined Harry, Jasmine, and the other new Gryffindors at the table, the Gandalf look-alike stood and spoke.

            “Hello, all; and welcome to Hogwarts. I am sure you are all aware of the turmoil and violence present in our world at this time. Many of us have lost loved ones; however, we must persevere, as here at Hogwarts we are safe. So let us turn our minds to our studies, and to our friends, and, at this moment, to our meals. May the feast begin.”

            At the old man’s words, plates piled with food popped into existence on the table. Harry, who had been taught by his five years as an orphan to eat whatever he could, dug in readily. He talked with his new classmates, discovering that Eleanor Maxwell was Muggle-born, Jasmine Brown was pure-blood, and apparently that mattered a lot, even here. Jasmine knew all about the War, and told him things the Weasleys hadn’t wanted him to know, like how exactly all those people had been killed.

            To his horror, there was a spell that would kill anyone instantly, called the Killing Curse, and it was one of Voldemort’s (sorry, You-Know-Who’s) follower’s favorite weapons. They also tortured and mind-controlled their victims. The mind control sounded especially awful to Harry—he could see that it would cause mass chaos as no one knew who to believe or trust. He shivered and thanked his lucky stars he was here, safer at least at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The girl who lost her brother & his family was of course Amelia Bones. Susan Bones survived. And of course Jasmine Brown is related to Lavender.


End file.
